


Hüzün

by Ariejul



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Deacon is an ass, Desdemona doesn't get it, F/M, Fallout end game choices suck, Family Issues, Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Pain, Post Game, Sadness, Sole Survivor forgets to ask about it beforehand, Sole Survivor is a mess, Sole survivor doesn't know what to do now, Spoilers, Synths are people too, Z1 gets a name like a real boy, Z1 is a nice guy, Z1 just wants to help, actions have consequences, learning to live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariejul/pseuds/Ariejul
Summary: Hüzün: (n) a feeling of deep spiritual loss but also a hopeful way of looking at life; a shared feeling of melancholy - a poetic suffering, a permission to feel deeper, to ache.The Institute is destroyed, and the Synths are finally free. It's over. She ought to feel happy, but all she feels is empty. What do you do when the only reason you have to keep breathing is gone?post-game.Formerly Hiraeth.





	1. Everything Burns

**Author's Note:**

> In the Railroad ending, it always sort of bothered me that after all's said and done, Z1-14 just disappears. He was such a large part of what happened, and you just... never see him again. No goodbyes, no hey I'm out. Just poof. This is my attempt at exploring a what-if. I also think he's a neat character who doesn't get enough screen time.
> 
> This isn't beta'd, so if you see any spelling errors, please let me know. Please comment if you enjoy.
> 
> These guys aren't mine. I'm just playing around.

It takes a shorter amount of time for the smoke to settle than she expected, gazing out at the giant hole that used to be the most advanced scientific haven in the Commonwealth. She sighs, closing the lid of the detonator. It’s done. The boogeyman is no more, slain by her own hand.

She ought to feel glad, but she just feels empty.

The culmination of her deceit slowly disappears as the sun wanes below the horizon, and yet she still lingers.

The last words her child, the one she had struggled desperately to find, echo in her thoughts. Shaun had been so angry, spitting venom from his deathbed at her deceit. She had expected it, but it didn’t make the brunt of it easier. Part of her had hoped, cowardly, that she wouldn’t have to face him, that any sort of hatred he had for her would fall to deaf ears. She deserved every word of it and more. She hates herself for the way she lied and used his trust. Hates how Deacon and Desdemona had been so damned _proud_ of her. She half wonders if she didn’t just make a massive mistake, if maybe… maybe there could have been another way.

A hand rests on her shoulder, startling her. She’d thought everyone had left. “We should not linger after dark.”

Blinking, she meets his gaze. “Z1, you didn’t have to stay.”

He shifts on his feet, appearing uncomfortable. “I did not think you should be alone. Today has been trying.”

She readily agrees. Exhaustion washes over her like a tsunami, but she can’t sleep. Not now. Maybe never again. “But your people are finally free.”

“They are. I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done.” He gives her an awkward smile, a sure sign of its disuse. It’s a nice smile all the same. And honest. She’s seen too few honest things recently.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad we were able to save who we could.” Her eyes are drawn back to the wreckage, hidden in inky blackness. Shaun’s grave, dug by her own hands. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. She killed her son, her baby that she fought tooth and nail to find. Her child, the only thing that kept her moving when she left that godforsaken Vault.

Straightening her shoulders, she attempts to push it back down. This isn’t the place to fall apart. She has to stay strong. The ‘Wealth is unforgiving and destroys all but the strongest. She has to be strong. She can’t die now. Not here. The Railroad still has work to do, and Dez is waiting for her. So is Deacon. As much as she hates them right now, she has nowhere else to belong, and she still believes in the work they do.

And the child synth, Shaun… he isn’t her real son, and she hates herself for thinking it. He didn’t ask to be made, or believe who he is. She takes a breath.

“What will you do now?” It’s a simple question.

She doesn’t know how to answer it. For the first time since she woke, she has no goal or purpose.

“I… don’t know.” She hates the way her voice wavers, showing her pain.

Z1 shifts behind her. “I… Father… your son. I am sorry. For all he did, he was not a bad man.”

“I really don’t want to talk about him right now,” she says, hands curling into fists.

“I understand,” he replies, voice the same soft cadence as always. He manages to startle her again when he takes her hand in his, squeezing.

“Z1?” She looks up, trying to gauge his motivation, but she can’t read him.

He doesn’t look at her, gazing out into the darkened horizon. He looks so damned hopeful. It breaks her heart. “I will stay with you, however long you require.”

Her chest feels suddenly tight, and she turns away as more tears come. “Thank you.”

“It is the least I can do,” he whispers.

She spends the rest of the night just staring off into the darkness, tears leaking from her eyes as she remembers all she lost. Z1 never leaves her side and doesn’t mention any tears he might see.


	2. Holiest Thing I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Z1 follows after the Savior of his People. 
> 
> Z1's PoV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So, I finally managed to write the next chapter for this story. I haven't forgotten about it! :D
> 
> Z1's PoV was easier than I expected. Also, Sole finally gets a name! 
> 
> Just a note, there is talk of some dubious consent going on here. Nothing graphic, but certainly implied. 
> 
> A note of trivia: I originally wrote this from Sole's PoV and hated it, so bam, Z1 we go. This one is much better, I assure you.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :D
> 
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated!

Z1 follows after the Savior of his People, worry creasing his brow. Since the explosion that ensured freedom from the Institute’s clutches, Code name Whisper, his savior, has been withdrawn, cold. She seemed surprised when he continued right after her when they left Mass Fusion behind.

He isn’t offended by that. Certainly, he could go his own way, and honestly, he probably should. He’s free, for the first time in his life, and that is enough to leave him humming on cloud nine. But watching her, the distraction, the raw pain that flashes across her face, recalling her tears, Z1 can’t leave her. Not now. Perhaps it’s just a part of his programming to want to protect a human, but he doesn’t care. She’s earned his caring.

The Commonwealth is nothing like he imagined. Z1 knew it would be different from the Institute. Even the Synths had heard tales of the utter destruction of the surface, but seeing it firsthand… nothing could have prepared him. It’s dirty and broken and smells just _off_. Excitement and dread in equal parts shoots down his spine at the very thought of living here, of not knowing what each day might bring.

He owes the woman walking just steps ahead more than he could ever accurately express.

A stifled gasp draws his attention back; She is staggering along, clearly troubled. He reaches toward her, but she evades him unknowingly, turning into the blown out lobby of an abandoned high-rise.

Z1 touches her shoulder when she stops and is startled at the hunted, feral expression on her face. It honestly knocks him speechless, gaping like a fish. She whirls away angrily, calling down the elevator. The ride up is a tense affair, at least for Z1, who keeps side-eyeing her. Fear presses against his nerves; drawing the ire of a human never led to anything pleasant, and it’s difficult not to recoil in the face of it.

He’s well aware that the Institute’s former Director, Father, the genetic donor that made Synths like himself possible, is or was her child, just as he knows how fiercely she struggled to find him. Very little could be kept secret in the Institute, and Z1 had the ear of nearly every Gen-3 Synth there. It was a trivial matter to learn about her. The only bit he didn't learn was her name.

He’s honestly never entertained the thought of children, doubtful such fantasy is even possible for someone like him, but he understands kinship. It’s a feeling deeply ingrained, a carnal longing to protect those who do not have the power to do so otherwise, and he wonders if that is anything close to the love a parent feels for a child. If so, Z1 can’t fathom what it must have been like for her, pitted against her own offspring.

It was necessary, but he still wishes it did not have to be so.

She stumbles out and drops to the floor, writhing in agony the moment the elevator reaches its destination. Z1 finds himself dropping down beside her. Comfort is something foreign to him, but he longs to ease her suffering. Whether that longing itself is a part of his programming or truly _him_ , he doesn’t know. All he wishes is to soothe her sorrow.

He hesitantly reaches out, brushing her hair from her face. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

His savior’s face flickers with a wave of emotion before she jerks away, hiding behind a curtain of hair. “What the hell could someone like you do? Just… leave me alone.”

Flashbacks of the Institute scientist’s uncaring ways crash into him. He swallows down the rise of terror accompanying it and draws away from her. It’s easy enough to fall back into the unfeeling simulacrum of a person. Anything to avoid notice. “Very well. I will be… nearby, if you require assistance.”

Balling up his fists, he leaves her to her sorrow. There is nothing he can do, and he does not want her to send him away. He would obey that command – and doesn’t the thought of that sting? – but he would hate every moment of it. Better to let her calm down. Z1 is almost certain she did not mean the words.

Wandering the deserted halls, Z1 marvels at how massive the building is, full of nooks and crannies to explore. From what he can tell, _someone_ used to live here. Perhaps someone his savior knew? The Railroad, maybe? A questionable stain catches his attention; it looks like dried blood. Z1 is suddenly reminded of the Institute bloodbath, watching ally and foe alike falling in a hail of gunfire. Catching himself shivering, he wanders into a side room that might have been sleeping quarters.

The Institute jumper weighs heavily on his shoulders, and Z1 aches to be rid of it. He wants to rid himself of everything associated with that horrible place. A deep seated part of him wonders if he can ever truly escape. Will the Institute always be a ball and chain pulling him ever toward the abyss?

One of the ancient dressers contains a pair of jeans and a worn flannel shirt, both of which thankfully fit. Discarding the now filthy jumper is something like a triumph, one more layer of oppression gone. With a sigh, he steps back out in the hall and glances out a hole in the wall.

It’s strange, watching the bright orange ball sink slowly below the horizon line. Day and night meant nothing in the Institute, and he had little reason to care. Z1 absently wonders if nighttime is more dangerous than the day. It must be, he decides, watching the shadows lengthen and pool at his feet. It’s already getting difficult to see, even though his eyesight is far better than a human’s.

Glancing up the ramp, Z1 makes his way back toward his traveling companion, loathe to leave her alone for too long. Shadows like these can hide anything, and he isn’t convinced a Courser won’t pop out when he least expects it. Swallowing down that fear, he climbs toward Whisper. His savior.

The sun has completely set by the time he reaches the main lobby, and at the silence, a frisson of anxiety slides down his spine that something might have happened. What if she chose to leave him here? What if a Courser found and struck her down? Eyes darting around the room and straining to see, he finally locates her. His savior is merely sleeping.

Crouching beside her, Z1 gently brushes hair that has fallen in her face back and studies her. She must have cried herself to sleep, he muses, noticing that she hadn’t moved from the place she dropped and the redness of the skin around her eyes and nose. Before he can think to stop himself, he lifts her from the floor and lays her down on the mattress in the corner. It smells faintly of musk which is mildly troublesome, but it’s better than the floor.

She whimpers softly when he releases her, and Z1 just watches. Her expression is so open like this, none of the mystery usually draped over it. He absently wonders if all humans are so vulnerable in slumber. As a Synth, he has no need to sleep and never pondered doing so. Some of his people do, certainly, especially the Infiltrators or those whose minds have been wiped, but he never has.

While he understands the biological need, the thought of being still like this for hours is terrifying. Anything could happen, and humans are such fragile creatures. His fingertips trace across the crease of her brow, and she sighs, shifting beneath his touch. He freezes, only relaxing when he’s certain she won’t wake. A strange sense of guilt pools in his stomach, and he moves away from her. Everything is fine. She’s safe. Z1 takes a deep breath and decides to continue exploring.

Anything to keep from staring at her face while she’s sleeping.

When next he returns shortly after sunrise, she’s sitting up on the couch and appears to be reading. A snack cake hangs from her mouth, and Z1 has to take a moment to collect himself before he can speak. “What are you reading?”

He’s clearly startled her as the book and her snack goes flying. Z1 squashes the guilt building in his chest at that.

Her eyes are still red rimmed, but she manages a small smile. “Oh, um, to be honest,” she leans over, raking a hand through her knotted hair, and picks up the book and ruined snack, discarding the latter in a waste bin beside her. “I’m really not sure. I _think_ it’s _I, Robot_ by Isaac Asimov,” she answers, showing him the state of disrepair of the tome. “Most of it’s been ripped out, though.”

He nods, walking over and hesitantly sitting down beside her. “I assume it is about robots?”

She sighs, a wistful expression clouding her face. “Yeah. It was one of my brother’s favorites.” Z1 didn’t realize she had other family, but it certainly makes sense. He bites back the urge to ask, doubting that anyone else she knew managed to make it to this time as she did. “I always meant to read it, but I just… never got around to it.”

Z1’s brows furrow. “I am sorry. It must be difficult.”

He understands that longing clear on her face, the wish for a home no longer there. Regardless of how much he hated the Institute and the treatment of his people there, it was home, and in a way he misses it, the comfort of knowing what each day would be and bring.

She grimaces. “Yeah, but I’ll manage. Always do.” Looking down at the book, she holds it out to him. “Here. Why don’t you read it?”

He takes it with trepidation, staring at the cover. He’s never been given a book to read before. “Thank you.”

She glances away awkwardly when he says nothing more. “You changed your clothes.”

His heart stammers in his chest at those words, a sliver of trepidation squirming down his spine. A part of him expects to be reprimanded for doing so without permission, even knowing she does not own him. “Yes. I am aware of how others in the Commonwealth view the Institute and Synths, so I thought it best to distance myself as much as possible.” A lie, but easier to speak than the truth. He looks up toward her. “Are you feeling better?”

His savior nods. “I’m really sorry, Z1. For earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

At that, he blinks. No one has ever apologized to him. Not even Liam, who if not a friend, was at the least an ally. His chest tightens, closing his eyes. “I understand. You are suffering. I apologize for my own part in that suffering, and I would like to help you, if I can.” His grip on the book tights just slightly as he stares at the scarred front.

The way she studies him is painfully reminiscent of the clinical gaze of the Institute’s scientists, coldly deciding if his programming is functioning correctly. As if that decision did not determine his very existence. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Z1 swallows down the odd tangle of emotion such simple words stir up. He hastily looks away before she can realize his discomfort. Exposing vulnerability is a death warrant. Taking a deep breath, he decides to risk asking the question that has been on his mind since they met. Fear always held his tongue before.

“This is long overdue, but… what would you prefer I call you? I –” he hesitates, pushing away the loathing trying to drown him, “I was not deemed important enough to know your true name, and considering your current attitude toward the Railroad, I do not believe you would enjoy the use of your code name.”

His savior frowns, face growing flush. “Call me Alex.”

Z1 hesitates, brows furrowing slightly, but he nods all the same. Calling a human by their first name still frightens him, even as he realizes it is just conditioning from years of servitude in the Institute. “Of course, Alex.”

Alex jerks a little at that, closing her eyes. He notes the tremor that courses through her and ponders why it might have such an effect. He dares not ask. “Have you thought about a name for yourself?”

A name of his own. A thought that both thrills and unnerves him. He shakes his head with a frown. “No, not yet.”

Again, she astounds him with an apology before turning away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Shaking his head, Z1 manages a smile. “No, it is alright. I merely… a name is a privilege I did not dream would ever be mine. Such a thing requires ample consideration.”

“Well,” Alex replies easily, “no need to rush.” His savior reaches over and pats his hand. The gesture is both terrifying and grand, and he has truly no idea how to respond to it. So, he doesn’t. If she notices his disquiet, it isn’t mentioned.

The act of touch to a Synth in the Institute usually meant one of two things. Either it was merely routine, seen by the human as a cold and clinical task, servicing a tool so it did not break, or, if the Synth was unlucky enough to catch an unscrupulous human’s attention, it was a mockery of intimacy, something _degrading_. A touch that could not be turned away for fear of reprogramming or decommission. Z1 was lucky in that regard, avoiding the gaze of any human willing to do so, but the stories he heard still make him want to retch.

Touch from a human is never born of friendship or kindness. Synths are not _friends,_ not to humans _._ Not even Liam dared to touch him. It’s too much, having her initiate contact so casually with him. It’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

Slipping away from her touch under the pretext of setting the book she gave him aside, Z1 tries to steady himself. It takes him a time before he can manage words. “I am uncertain that I wish to even give myself a name.”

Her head cocks to the side, clearly not noticing his aversion to contact. “Why’s that?”

He glances over before his eyes drop to the floor. Leaning forward with elbows on knees, Z1 attempts to put those feelings to words. They have lingered so long in only his mind, it’s more difficult that he ever imagined to speak them. That she would care at all is a miracle. “I have been Z1-14 for so long. Do I even have the right, discarding my designation when so many of my brothers and sisters died without ever knowing such freedom?”

Her face clouds over, and he forces himself not to flinch away in reaction. Alex does not mean him harm. He knows that, but it still challenging. “Only you can answer that,” she murmurs softly. “It’s your choice ultimately, but just… don’t get so wrapped up in the past that you can’t move forward.”

His gaze wanders over the planes of her face, searching. “I will keep that in mind.”


End file.
